A direct sample of a meandering discourse
by likingthistoomuch
Summary: Sherlock has a simple case to solve, that leads to bigger discoveries.
1. Chapter 1

"It was the best holiday of my life. Three weeks roaming Italy, stuffing myself with Italian cuisine. Desperately trying to correctly pronounce the words from the Traveller's Dictionary. Navigating through the roads or canals in Florence and Venice. Falling into bed tired but happy, content and with a smile on my face.

And then I met Piero.

It was the best three days I could ever expect to have, and then some more. A chance meeting, a shared gondola and memories to last a lifetime.

As you can see, he was quintessentially Italian, with high cheek bones and dark hair complimented by a ruddy complexion, tall and lean. I was surprised he even glanced at me. Though I was extremely wary initially (I hid my wallet and passport inside my bag and held it even tighter), he had me laughing and spending the whole day with him.

Parting after a shared pizza watching a roadside concert, we shared numbers and he promised to meet me at the _Piazza San Marco_ the next morning. I left with a slightly heavy heart, wishing he hadn't felt the need to lie. But was pleasantly surprised to see him flag me down the next morning as decided. I still held my bag tightly, but let myself enjoy a bit more.

It was a gorgeous day, I had the perfect pasta and showcased my dancing skills as I was swung around by an Italian performer while his partner sang love songs. All the while being watched by a smiling Piero, who somehow now looked at me as if he had deciphered my secret.

That night, he dropped me off at my hotel and we shared a sweet kiss. It conveyed all the pleasure of having good company and a good time. This time when he promised to meet me the next day, I let myself believe him.

The third day it rained, so we spent it indoors exploring museums till he complained of tired feet. Ribbing him gently about his lack of walking practice, we sat in a small café overlooking one of the canals. The rain had stopped, the air was cool and the crowds were thin. When he kissed me this time, it was with passion that I had not felt in a very long time. He conveyed something through that kiss, a promise or a wish, I wasn't sure and I didn't get any time to understand either. When we now moved around the place, he held my hand throughout.

That night he accompanied me to my hotel room …it didn't go all the way, but his kiss before he left me conveyed loads of unsaid things.

The next morning I left for Florence."

As Molly finished her story, having finally managed to start inspite of the continuous interruptions of _Bored!_ and _Further?_ And _What an original pose of the happy couple in a Gondola_ and _Can we get to the actual question today?_ by Sherlock, there was a silence in the room. Sherlock was still sulking at my threat of using his head for dart practice (I _am_ pretty good at darts!) if he didn't let Molly speak.

"Sherlock?" I nudged him.

"Oh, I am allowed to talk now am I," came his sarcastic response.

"Sherlock," I literally growled, and it seemed to work for the time being as he turned towards the surprisingly calm pathologist sitting in the chair usually occupied by clients.

"Thanks for sharing your holiday conquests with us Molly. I am surprised you weren't robbed or pushed into human trafficking!"

Too soon Watson, I internally groaned at my optimism.

Ignoring the acerbic words, Molly ploughed on.

"I need you to find him."

"Why?"

"I need to know he is fine."

"Why?"

"I need to know that he is ok…that he is doing well."

"He seemed _capable_ enough, as seen from your last evening."

She still bravely carried on.

"Will you do this? Can you find him for me?"

"No. Boring. I don't hunt for separated 'lovers'. You should've known his number would be fake."

"It isn't fake. It's just not reachable now."

"SIM probably at the bottom of one of those canals. _Really_ Molly, I expected better from _you_."

 _"Why?"_

The strength and force in her voice surprised us both, temporarily shutting Sherlock.

"Why? What do you mean why? A single woman putting herself at risk isn't the most intelligent option is it?"

"But that was not a problem when _you_ asked me to help you, was it?"

There was a moment of silence. I could see that Sherlock was as stunned as I due to sheer fury in her voice. She then rose from her chair, and grabbing her purse, removed an envelope that she placed on the table next to me.

"Sorry to bother you. I wasn't asking for any favours, this should cover for your time. If it's less, you know where to find me."

As she left 221B, I turned to the silent detective.

"You _prick_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Molly:**

It was the Thursday after I visited Baker Street that I met Sherlock, and to be frank, I wasn't too pleased to see him.

All I had wanted was a little help and I was professional about it. How dare I even think that Sherlock Holmes would want to help a...a colleague,when it was just a simple case that did not involve mysterious circumstances or megalomaniacs or polished women lying on a morgue slab. There were no international conspiracies, no crazy followers and no murders or crimes.

Just a man to find? How boring.

My initial anger had cooled down by now, but I felt the irritation flare up when I saw him sat on my couch when I returned from work. I ignored him altogether until I had had a shower and made a cup of tea. Placing a mug in front of him, I went and sat back on my chair, tucking my feet underneath me.

"Molly I should apologise for -"

"Sherlock, stop." I had no patience left for false pacifications and was too tired to put up with whatever he was up to. "I have asked Greg to look into the matter, as I should've –oh for God's sake Lestrade… as I should've done in the first place."

"Waste of time Molly, he won't find him."

"That's a bit arrogant, even for you. He just has to find an address."

"He will find the address but he will not find Piero."

I must've gone pale; I definitely remember missing a heartbeat. But he remained seated, his tea mug ignored, his steady gaze boring into mine.

"From your face I can see that it hasn't surprised you much." He paused, as if deciding something. "I am sorry."

It wasn't the biggest surprise. To be honest, I had been expecting a similar news from Greg's search. I had specifically asked him to check out Swiss clinics though I didn't have much hope of him getting through Swiss secrecy. I didn't know what I had expected to feel, but at that moment I felt just numb.

Sherlock didn't seem to have any such conflicting thoughts. He stood up and removed an enveloped from his jacket…my envelope.

"I misjudged your intentions. Maybe I reacted a little harshly, 'like a prick' as John so eloquently put it. But there was definitely no need for this." He slapped the envelope on my side table, nodded once and left.

I sat there staring at my now tepid tea. Another life gone, another smile lost to the world.

Another person I saw through the moment I met him, but this time I had been too late.

I had tried to get Piero to talk, maybe get him to lose some of the burden he seemed to carry on his shoulders. But the light in his eyes was dimming and that last evening I could see that he believed he had no choice. I could only hope his loved ones had received some closure. I felt sad for him and mourned the loss of a human being.

As to why he chose to spend those three days in Venice with me, I was still in the dark.

* * *

 **Sherlock:**

I left her flat, leaving her to grieve alone. Maybe I should've stayed back, but then I wouldn't have helped matters in any way. And I desperately need to clear my head.

I had felt a bit discombobulated at her outburst, back at Baker Street. She had never brought up the many times she has helped me out, and not always without risk to herself. It made me feel weirdly disturbed. Was this it? Was this going to turn into another of those 'I helped you so now you have to help me' scenarios? Was this where Molly Hooper turned normal?

The thought had plagued me the entire evening after she had left when in fact I should've been able to just brush it away. But it had gnawed on my nerves in a way that had me finally grab my phone and observe the photo of the man in that gondola.

I ignored the effort it took to look away from the face of his companion, whose smile lit up her eyes in a way I hadn't seen in person in quite some time. Gleaming whatever information I could from the photo, I set to work. It would involve raising some international contacts I made during my years 'prancing in the alps', as Mycroft so poetically calls my time destroying Moriarty's web. (He so deserved the hot soup Uncle Larry accidentlydumped in his lap.) Luckily for Molly, she had caught me in a dry spell of cases.

(Note to the London criminal class: bloody pull your socks up!)

And as expected, it was easy, too easy; Piero Valente Camerino was no mystery and certainly not a psychopath trying to get close to Molly in order to get to me. The man was a teacher, had a decent job and a big family, was popular amongst his friends and had a perfectly good, perfectly normal life.

If you ignore the illness, that is.

From what I deciphered, Piero had just become tired. Tired of fighting, tired of treatments that were now failing, tired of the third time the cancer showed up. He was forty three years old, and he was done. He had booked himself into a clinic in Zurich and had met Molly a week before. He should've looked sicker in the photographs; after all the cancer was malignant this time.

And yet.

His smiles were genuine; he was actually having a good time. In retrospect, he looked like a man enjoying what he knew would be his last treat. His sister had said that the week before he left for Zurich Piero had been calm, peaceful. There were no nerves, no second thoughts. There was none of the melancholic air that he had displayed just a few days ago.

Ok. So case closed. Man found…or rather, information about missing man found. It didn't even require me getting up from my chair.

Boring!

Maybe I should do a Donovan, as Mary calls the NSY officer's erroneous deduction. Maybe I should set up a crime so I can solve it and th-oh great!What perfect timing Mummy! Now I have to take them to this...Cursed Child? What? Are they seriously-. Oh wait, its a play. A single text _can_ accommodate all information Mummy. Heavens, their choice in plays seems to be plummeting each year…they really want to see a story about annoying or down-on-luck children? People!


	3. Chapter 3

The gods above finally showered us with grace and a murder. I am sure my as well as the Scotland Yard's prayers could be heard on the moon, as finally Sherlock had a case, he was focussed and off our backs. We all know how he can get when he is bored. But this time I literally asked my wife to plan hiding his body while I shot him. And Greg, the man with THE most patience for Sherlock, concurred.

So the case was a blessing. Sherlock was on it like a starving dog on a bone, determined and working non-stop. It could've been written by a Hollywood scriptwriter. Kidnappings, murder threats, robbery, shooting and a finale that involved...wait for it… _a car chase_ around the Yorkshire dales. All that was missing was a helicopter chasing us with guns and a mad villain and we would've been in the next Bond movie. Of course the bubble of my imagination was nicely burst by my best friend, who very helpfully pointed out the silliness of a car being chased by a helicopter and the ease with which MI6 would deal with a villain that loco.

Yet I let my imagination run wild but the enjoyment lessened as we approached London. Now it was the excitement of seeing my family, and being held in those familiar arms that made me _jumpy like a puppy_ , as I was so helpfully reminded.

The case had taken better part of two weeks to solve and I practically fell down on my couch. I was surprised out of my dazed state a few minutes later as a thoroughly exhausted Sherlock landed next to me. He preferred the quiet and isolation of Baker Street after a case like this, where Mrs Hudson cooed and pampered him, plying him with delicious meals. We had parted right at Paddington.

"Baker Street is empty; Mrs Hudson is off to her sister's. Of all the days to go off gallivanting…" he complained.

Patting his head, Mary nodded in a consolatory manner before making dinner. He practically inhaled the food she piled onto his plate and was fast asleep on the sofa before I could even call a cab. Mary's face, as she covered him with a blanket, mirrored the expression when she wished our daughter a good night. Looking at the woman who had welcomed my dearest, albeit definitely weird, friend into her heart right from the beginning, I realised how lucky a man I was.

Sherlock as a best friend, Mary as my life partner, a daughter -I cannot put into words how much I love her- who completed me in ways I didn't even know I needed…life has been good to me. It has taken its time but sitting here in my house right now, I cannot ask for anything more for myself.

As for my best friend, I just hope that he finds some quiet. And a non-narcotic means of getting it.

"We haven't had Sherlock over after a case like this in a long time. I assumed he would've been done with his limited stores of patience for other breathing beings and would kill to be left alone."

I could barely summon the energy to respond to that. I had the love of my life in my arms after what seemed like ages and discussing my snoring friend below was the last thought on my mind.

"Easier to eat what you've made, than to negotiate the intricacies of dialling in a meal."

But Mary (being Mary) continued to dig in.

"He looked a bit lost right now. Like he wasn't sure what to do now that Mrs Hudson wasn't home."

"Do you mind he came here? I can try and ask him, but you know he will do as he feels. _And_ Mrs Watson, you will indulge him, making me out to be the villain. I would rather _not_ want to punch my friend again."

Mary's breath against my neck as she laughed was the last coherent thought I had that night.

It is perfectly true when they say that your bed at home is the best recovery ward in the whole bloody world. I woke up early but refreshed, the sound of my baby cooing making me more content that ever. _Home is where the heart is._ Add to that Mary's special brew of coffee and my heaven was here.

I loved to watch my wife and daughter babble at each together, their special interaction the best thing in the whole world. So I tiptoed to the living room where I could hear voices.

I stopped short when I saw Mary playing with my daughter on her lap, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sherlock. The man himself was probably critiquing the coffee in his hand by the look on his face.

"It's true you know. Change _is_ the only thing that is constant, that and our struggle to deal with it."

"Also my struggle to swallow this god-awful coffee you make."

"Oh Sherlock, you _love_ it!" Mary smiled smugly. She laid her head on his shoulder, and silently made faces at my daughter.

I had known Sherlock long enough by now to remain where I was, almost getting a tangible sensation that he was about to reveal something. It had become a tradition by now; I would try to get him to open up for hours and days and he would simply insult me back. Then five minutes in, my wife would make him divulge his innermost thoughts in a way that would surprise the git himself. She was dangerous in that way, my Mary.

I recognised the play set up and waited.

And was rewarded when Sherlock quietly muttered, "You should learn from Molly how to make a good brew."


	4. Chapter 4

**Molly:**

When I entered my flat I stopped right at the door, and mentally checked if the stuff in my shopping bags was enough for two. Sherlock hadn't appeared at my doorstep for almost two months but seeing his coat hung by the door, I knew I would have company for dinner. Thank god the menu was pasta and sauce, instead of sushi rolls I almost planned to make.

"Just keep off the parmesan will you? The sauce tastes horrible with it."

Oh, spot on deduction of the meal followed _always_ with some suggestion. "Or you could just eat somewhere else. How's that for an idea?"

He smirked, the git. But I hadn't seen him for ages, and say what I like, think what I like, I adored the man. And was very glad he was here, even if he treated my place like a free B&B. We had our dinner in silence, he on his mobile and me reading my book. I was debating having an ice-cream or not when suddenly Sherlock spoke, his casual tone belying his underlying interest.

"You really liked him didn't you?"

I smiled. I had been waiting for this questioning for some time now.

"Yes. Yes I did."

"After a long time?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you want to stay back?"

"Well, Venice has its charms. But Florence beckoned. And though I liked the man, Sherlock, I wasn't exactly planning on spending my life with him. Good call, in retrospect."

His lips slightly lifted upwards.

"It was a little crush but it felt good. It was a reminder that there yet is hope."

That was what I had felt when I had met Piero. The thrill on having a good looking stranger return your smile, that shiver of excitement running down your spine. It all was just for a day but damn! it had felt good.

"So you finally noticed someone else."

My heart skipped a beat when he said those words. It wasn't what he said but more the way he said it. His face showed no emotions, his voice was calm and yet…I had known him for a long time now and I could read the words between those lines.

So you finally noticed someone else… _though I am still here_.

"It was bound to happen someday Sherlock."… _yes, even with you still here._

I turned to face him, our eyes locking. I felt sad for Piero, felt sad for a life lost but I was also grateful. Those three days, when I hadn't even thought of Sherlock, had been a revelation that I could move on…maybe I had already started. Maybe there yet was hope for a 'happily ever after' for me, who knows!

I smiled a relieved smile, sure that he was reading me exactly the way he always did. It would be different yet the same. I was the same person and yet, he could finally get off the hook.

* * *

 **Sherlock:**

For some reason, I immediately thought of Mary and our last conversation of a few ago. That morning when she had offered me a different brew than normal, an expensive Colombian coffee. It had been wonderful but it felt…wrong.

I looked at Molly; she felt relief and a certain excitement. She now felt she could finally envisage a normal future for her.

And I felt oddly bereft at the _mere_ possibility of her future being different than what I had plotted or surmised.

I like certain patterns, certain schedules. I have always been very organised in a way (I can almost hear John guffawing and Mrs Hudson snorting at this.) Things work out well when they are planned. When they happen as they are supposed to.

Sitting with her, facing her open and smiling face, I felt confused. This was what I had always wanted, for Molly to move on so we could work even better. Whatever those pesky feelings, they always interfered (ref to the case titled 'A Scandal in Belgravia' for how feelings can mess things up). An intelligent man learns from other's mistakes and I was intelligent enough not to follow the mistake that the Woman made.

And yet.

It was a miasma of feelings and emotions that felt suffocating. I had to get out and get some clarity, so that's exactly what I did.

And her kind but worried smile as I left didn't help a bit.

I could almost feel the nervous energy flowing through me now. Walking about the city I loved and called home, I had hoped to shed some of it in the hope that my mind would eventually calm down. London has always had that effect on me.

But today it seemed the more I walked, the more I seemed to absorb the life London gave out. It looked like the city was winding down, shutting down while I was getting more active. My brain, instead of slowing down as it always did when I roamed about the streets, seemed to hit into higher gear. All I needed was some quiet. And there were easy means of achieving that, hiding in the dark shadows and nooks all around me, always present, always beckoning. With huge effort and deep breaths, I managed to turn my back to each call.

Absolutely spent and too tired to go anywhere, I decided to go home.

And I think I was as surprised as anyone to realise that I was now stood outside her door. I must've rung the bell, as I could hear her unlatch the door. One eye shut while squinting through the other, her hair a mess that hung limply on that horrendous green t-shirt, Molly in her sleep addled state looked confused to find me at her door.

"For God's sake Sherlock, its almost 3 o'clock," she mumbled before turning and allowing me to enter.

* * *

 **Molly:**

I opened the door and let him in. All I wanted was to crash back in bed and sleep my weird-dreams addled sleep. But something made me turn and look at him. He stood by the door, a look of thorough confusion on his face.

"I had decided to go home. But…here I am."

"It's ok, you can stay the night" I whispered, stumbling back towards my bed.

"It's quiet."

His wondrous tone made me turn around again.

"It's 3AM, of course it's quiet."

"Not for _me_."

I was fully awake by now, a frown on my face. I must've looked hideous but he looked fascinated, as if some understanding had dawned upon him.

"I think I know why Piero spent his last days with you Molly."

"Huh?" I managed to mumble. I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs off my sleepy brain. "What?"

"You saw him, pain and all, yet you made him feel human."

He had a small smile on his face as he approached me slowly. It was disconcerting, to be gazed at like that… by _him_.

"I roamed the city looking for quiet and look where I finally found it. Always. With you."

I was sure by now he could hear my heart beating rapidly. He stood close, gazing at me with something akin to fascination.

I could not form a word even if I tried, my mouth feeling dry.

"John says home is where the heart is. I'm not even sure I know what that means. But I understand silence, I value calm."

He paused, staring at me for so long without saying a word I thought he was lost in his mind palace. Until he breathed out softly.

"It's _you_. You make it go all quiet."

He cupped my face, his eyes weaving a story in mine.

"You, Molly Hooper…you keep me sane and together and I am fragile without you."

His touch, his voice…those words. They were all that anchored me as my vision blurred, my deeply hidden wishes and hopes finally breaking their confines. It was almost like a dream, maybe it _was_ a dream. But I fully intended to enjoy it as long as I could.

* * *

 **Sherlock:**

The next day started as usual. I was up and dressed before her. And as always when I stayed over, she had set the coffee machine the previous night.

It tasted wonderful.


End file.
